


Unnoticed and Necessary

by Scarecrowqueen



Series: Whatever Ever You Want [4]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Companion Piece, F/M, Green Eyed Monster, Guardians are Bros, M/M, Outsider Perspective, Pitch is a certified psychopath, Sandy is badass, awkward sex talks, possible trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarecrowqueen/pseuds/Scarecrowqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only.  I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary."<br/>- Margaret Atwood</p><p>Part three of this verse, the companion to 'Of Heart(h) and Home,' and 'Look After You.'</p><p> If Heart(h) was 'Five times Jack gatecrashed Aster's burrow and made himself useful, and One time he didn't have to leave,' and LAY was 'Five conversations Jack had about Bunny, and One he had with him,' then this is 'Five times someone knew Jack and Aster were in love, and One time Jack had something different to say.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Wander Through Fiction to Look For the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is, part three! I had completely intended for this to take place chronologically after both Heart(h) and LAY, but the more I ponder the more I realize that it's not going to happen that way. The timeline will be shifting chapter by chapter, so again I've managed a companion fic as opposed to a sequel, by definition. Blame the muses, it's all their fault.
> 
> That being said, not quite sure how this chapter turned out, please let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, there may be triggery stuff in this chapter for mention of date-rape. If this is an issue please don't read any further.

The first inkling Jamie has that anything has changed is the bruise on Jack’s neck. High up, nestled just behind Jack’s left ear, it’s nothing but a small, purple little blemish. Jamie get’s bruises like that sometimes on his legs; he’s a bit of a klutz, forever knocking his shins into anything hard he can find. This is Jack’s neck though, and Jamie can’t quite believe that Jack’s that clumsy with his neck, of all things. No, it’s probably more like the bruises he used to see on the neck of that one babysitter they’d used to have back when Sophie was just a baby. He’d liked Sammie a lot, she’d always played really fun games and had let him have double the dessert she was supposed to, but the bruises had always made his mom frown a lot whenever she came over. She never said anything in front of Jamie about it, but he knew that she was kind of glad when Sammie had left for college and she could start looking for a new babysitter. (Sammie’s younger sister Meg turned out to be far stricter on the dessert thing, but she’d sit with Sophie for hours playing tea party or dress up or whatever, and as long as his sister was happy, Jamie would be too.)

So Jamie puzzles about the bruise until it fades, and then again ever once in a while when a new one crops up, but he never asks because asking about things is rude, and Jamie’s dad was from Georgia and has taught him loads about being a ‘polite southern gentleman.’ Jamie always figured that his good manners would sound so much cooler in his dad’s musical accent, but Jamie’s not even good at faking it so he doesn’t even try, unless it’s to make Sophie laugh. So Jamie never asks Jack, and he never puts two and two together, even after he turns ten and his mom takes Sophie out for a ‘Girl’s day’ and his dad sits him down on the aging couch and proceeds to educate him on the ‘facts of life.’ The discussion beings with “Son, when a man and a woman meet, sometimes they have feelings for each other...” and ends with Jamie flushing bright red, utterly mortified and suddenly, some of those comments on the TV shows he’s not supposed to be watching start to make sense. Jamie absorbs the information, ponders it, manages to come up with dozens of questions, some he’s even brave enough to ask his father, others he asks his friends, and still others he sits on because, really, who’d even want to hear some of this stuff, like, much less be willing to answer?

It doesn’t occur to Jamie to talk to Jack, because while Jack still comes around, is still the same as he’s always been, Jamie has never forgotten that Jack isn’t human, for all he looks like one. Not that it makes a difference in how Jamie treats him, cause seriously, it’s Jack and Jamie loves him, but awkward things like sex and Jack just don’t seem to overlap in Jamie’s head. Until, one day, Jack’s bent over Jamie’s desk, helping him with his intro Algebra and Jamie’s bored, bored, bored. So bored in fact, that his eyes have strayed from Jack’s face to the small round bruise just under Jack’s left ear, placed in almost the same spot as the first one Jack had ever shown up with. In fact, the more Jamie stares, the more he can almost see the line of red under the purple, where teeth met and pinched the flesh during its formation. It’s then, out of nowhere that Jamie’s distraction addled brain finally makes the connection between what he’s seeing and the jokes he’s heard the older kids make on the bus.

“You have a hickey!” Jack stops dead mid-sentence, his explanation dying on his tongue as he stares wide-eyed at the boy next to him. For Jamie’s part he stares right back, just as shocked by his own outburst. He hadn’t actually meant to announce it like that, but he’d been so startled the words had apparently bypassed his brain on the way to his mouth. “You...! You’ve had, like, dozens of them, oh my GOD Jack! It this like, a, a, _sex_ thing?” And the words just kept on coming, Jamie feeling his face heat up in embarrassment as he spoke. Well done nonexistent verbal filter. Jack for his part was still staring at Jamie, one hand having crept up to press two fingers to the purple mark, mouth agape in shock. The pair of them just sat there, goggling at each other in silence, until Jack seemed to shake it off and sighed, lowering his hand to close the math books. Rising from his chair he moved to take the window seat, drawing one leg up to his chest and gesturing for Jamie to follow. Jamie comes almost reluctantly, settling himself onto his mattress facing Jack, pillow in his lap if only to have something to fidget with. Jack gives him a level look, before cracking and almost-smile.

“This is going to turn into a super-awkward conversation now, isn’t it?” Miserably, Jamie nods, wishing he’d never asked but still dying to know, because this was Jack. Jack who was obviously doing very grown-up things with someone, probably regularly; and man that was somehow even more disquieting then realizing his parents still had cause to lock the door at night to keep out prying eyes. This was Jack, who brought the snow and helped him with his math and never laughed at him when he asked what other people always thought were silly questions. Kind of like he wasn’t laughing now, and despite his own frosty ‘blush’ at the thought of the subject matter, was still more than willing to talk to a confused, curious twelve year old. At once the boy found himself just a little bit overwhelmed by the hot rush of affection for the winter spirit that rose in his chest.

“You... don’t have to, y’know, if you don’t want to.” But Jack just smiles and encourages Jamie, so Jamie asks, and ok wow, married to the Easter Bunny, totally didn’t see that coming, but whatever, Jack smiles in a way Jamie’s never seen before when he talks about his husband, so it’s cool. Bunny is almost as frequent a guest as Jack, although he usually spends him time with Sophie, but he’ll stick his head in and say hey to Jamie too when he’s there. He often brings little treats, has taken to helping Sophie with her art they way Jack helps Jamie with his math, and never ever says no when Sophie wants him to play dolls with her. Bottom line, he’s always been good to the Bennett kids and appears to treat Jack even better, so Jamie has no objections there. Anything that makes Jack happy is automatically awesome in Jamie’s book, even if the logistics of it kind of break his brain a bit, at least based on what little he knows about the mechanics of sex, what with having no firsthand knowledge of the act.

Over the next half an hour Jack answers a few other questions, the kind Jamie had been too ashamed to ask his father or friends, and the winter spirit’s replies are all very frank and honest, the atmosphere growing a little less tense as they both start to relax. But the whole time, the ‘Giant-Rabbit/tiny human, also both very, very male’ issue keeps bouncing around Jamie’s head, begging for an answer. When he finally gets the guts to ask, beet-red and stammering, Jack frosts so dark he goes almost blue and kinda sparkly, reminding Jamie of some book series Pippa was always going on about. The older boy stutters a few times, starting a sentence then stopping, before very haltingly giving the briefest description absolutely possible and Jamie’s blushing so hard his ears feel like they’re on fire and the part of him that had wanted to stay innocent and unknowing is wailing in the back of his mind, but the larger part of him is grateful to Jack, for both his willingness and honesty, even if the mutual mortification is so severe it has probably altered both of them on a genetic level.

Jack seems to take pity on his poor virgin brain after that because he forces a bit of a laugh, abandoning his perch on the window seat to settle next to Jamie on his bed, tossing a casual arm about his shoulders. Jamie’s still too embarrassed to raise his eyes from the frayed hem of the pillowcase he’s been picking at, but the weight of Jack’s arm is a comfort and he leans in a bit.

“Jamie,” Jack says, saying his name with all fondness, as he always does, “it’s not so much about the kinds of things you like, or that you do with your partner. You see, the what and the how are not as important as the why. Whether it’s with a long term partner or a more, ah, temporary arrangement, the important thing is that sex is supposed to be fun, for both of you. To do that, you need to listen to them, trust them, and most of all, respect them. If you can do that, you’re doing it right.” Jamie looks up into Jack’s earnest face, quirking a small smile of his own.

“That easy, huh?” Jamie says with a grin, and Jack laughs.

“That easy. Too many people worry too much about what’s going on in someone else’s bedroom between consenting adults when really it’s none of their business. But Jamie remember;” and here, Jack was suddenly all serious, “Not everyone is going to play by those rules. If someone, anyone, does anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, or you’re not having fun, you always, always have the right to tell them no. If they don’t stop, then you have the right to do anything you can to make them stop, ok?” Jamie nods, solemnly, determined not to forget, cause Jack only ever used that tone of voice for the most important of things. Jack grins at him then, ruffling his hair before pressing one uncharacteristic kiss to Jamie’s forehead. Jamie squirms then shoves him off playfully, initiating a pillow fight that only ends when they hear Jamie’s dad come home with Sophie in tow and Jack has to bail.

Years later, Jamie will always remember that day, humiliating as it was, as the day he’d realized he wasn’t just the older brother, but that he _had_ an older brother, too. Jack’s words stayed with him into his later teens, when he sneaks out one night to a party thrown by babysitter Meg of all people, returned for the summer from college. There is a smattering of high school students there from his school, but none he really knows. There’s also one girl he sees, who seems far too drunk for the party having just started, barely able to stay on her feet, and the guy helping her seems a little too eager, and everything in the back of his brain is howling that something isn’t right, so he follows. He follows to an upstairs bedroom, and the girl is dead weight on the bed, conked right out but the guy doesn’t seem to mind at all, yanking his shirt off, and Jamie sees red. There isn’t anything _right_ about this, there isn’t anything _fun_ about this, and it takes Meg and two other men to pull him off of the _piece of shit,_ and the cops get called and his parents are _furious_ that he snuck out, but the girl is ok.

The girl is ok, and his parents forgive him eventually, even admitting that they’re proud of him for helping a stranger, but if he ever does it again he’ll be grounded until the end of the century. One day, about a week after, the girl shows up on his doorstep, offering him delicious homemade cookies as thanks. They eat the cookies together, sitting in the shade of the big tree with the old tire swing in his backyard while Sophie watches from the kitchen window and giggles, the girl’s auburn hair turning to fire in the bright sunshine. She and Jamie spend most of the summer together after that, walking around town holding hands shyly. She’s as clever and curious as Jamie himself, and when he finally tells her about the Guardians, she believes every word, citing something about statistical anomalies in the distribution of snow days in Burgess versus the three nearest towns. Jamie just smiles and laughs, thrilled by the tiny freckles on her nose, her hazel eyes, the way she squeezes his hand every minute or so as they walk, like she can’t believe he’s still there.

When Jamie introduces her to his brother, no one realizes that Jack is meeting the woman that will one day be Jamie’s wife. In fact, Jamie’s only real thought as he watches the two interact with very mutual happiness and fascination, is that he can’t wait to introduce her to his brother in law, too. 

Cause if she thought Jack was cool, then the whole Man-sized Alien Rabbit thing? She was just going to _love._


	2. A Life You Don't Live is Still Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distracted and fatigued, Tooth returns to her palace from a night of field work just as sunrise hits.

Distracted and fatigued, Tooth returns to her palace from a night of field work just as sunrise hits. She relieves Baby Tooth of command, giving her the A-OK for a well deserves break, and smoothly picking up her leadership duties from right where she left off. The rhythm of her work lulls her nearly into a trance, easily slipping into auto-pilot, calling out locations to the returning fairies and cataloguing the incoming teeth with the ease of someone who has centuries of experience. Tooth has taken to doing far more fieldwork since the Pitch’s little hostile takeover attempt. For all she enjoys it though, it’s still work. Taking actually breaks is nearly unheard of, but they are happening more often now that Baby Tooth is able to supervise and North has taken it upon himself to throw semi-regular get-togethers that provide good excuses for said breaks. Tooth is seriously considering finding another one or two of her girls to train in a similar fashion, figuring it’s good sense to have more than one fairy available able to run things should anything untoward occur again like it had nearly a year ago. 

Nearly a year since Pitch.

Nearly a year since Jack.

Tooth sighs again, her sadness apparent to all her fairies, but there is work to be done, so while they may take and extra second to greet their leader, they don’t linger, flitting off into the wider worlds. Tooth doesn’t mind, she’s not really in want of comfort tonight. Truthfully she feels she owes it to herself to have a good long sulk over all this.

Jack is with Bunny.

Tooth had known something was brewing there, since the first time Jack had admitted that he had an open invitation to the Warren. That day, when Jack had told her that he’d just waltzed in to the usually-sealed Warren and started cleaning up after the Pooka, Tooth had nearly had a conniption. She’d tried to convince herself at the time that it was just shock that Bunny hadn’t cared, had in fact seemed to appreciate the help, but she’d known even then, in her heart of hearts that there was something buried deeper, just beginning to surface. There was a whole month there shortly after, where a dark part of her had seen her friends depression and felt disgustingly pleased that things had fallen apart, but it was apparently meant to be because one day Jack just disappeared, and when they tried to notify Bunny, the Warren was locked. Tooth didn’t need precognition to know what was happening to her friends during their little sojourn. Sure enough, after a couple of week of radio silence from both the Spring and Winter Guardians, they had emerged, hands clasped from their now shared home, smiling the smiles of the deeply loved. 

Tooth had smiled to, because that is what friends do when other friends get Pooka-married. She’s sat through the laughter and the jokes and the likely edited retelling of their hasty courtship. She’d commented where appropriate, laughed when she was meant to, and acted as unabashedly thrilled for them as everyone expected the ever-chipper girl to act. Tooth had stayed strong to the bitter end, until everyone else had retreated citing duties, save for her and North. She’d turned to her friend, prepared to fake the same pleasantries as with the others, but the look in his eyes stopped her dead. He’d not said a word, simply held his arms out and she’d fallen into them like one of those simpering female leads she’d always hated. Toothiana was a warrior, a Queen, and like Bunny the last of her kind. She had a powerful heart and a strong will and she knew it, but right now those assurances meant nothing in the wake of her tangled emotions.

She had cried in North’s arms for longer then she cared to keep track of, the large man rubbing her back below her wings gently and rocking her back and forth, murmuring soothing sentiments in his native tongue. When she’d finally pulled back, still a little misty-eyed, North hadn’t even seemed to care about the large wet patch on the front of his shirt, he’d just smiled that captivating smile of his, cupping her small face with his massive hands and tenderly brushing a tear off her cheek with one large thumb. He’d sat her in his office then, feeding her more tea and fresh fruit, which she greatly preferred to the cookies he usually served, and they’d talked. She’d told him everything she’d never said out loud before, about her feelings for Jack. She’d spilled her guts on her anger at being looked over, at her shame for her jealousy toward her friend’s happiness. She was not the kind of person who wished for ill things, but she grieved and she hurt and sometimes the black thoughts seeped in around the edges. 

North had listened as he always did, with little judgement and much sympathy. He’s waited for her to run her course, and when the words had left her he’d taken his time to speak, to advise. North gave the best advice of anyone Tooth had ever met. What he’d told her had infuriated her, and she’d stormed out that night, and hadn’t been back since. That had been nearly two months ago and she found herself regretting her actions, and mostly missing her friend. It was hilarious in a way, they’d once gone decades without seeing each other, but she’d been spoiled recently by the changes wrought in their lives after Jack’s arrival and she missed sitting in North’s workshop drinking his fabulous tea and watching his animated face recount some likely hysterical tale about the elves or Yetis or what have you. The anger still burned though, a small bitter flame in her breast. 

Now here she sits, exhausted and guilty, knowing she must relent and fix her mistakes. Admitting to herself that something had to give was only the first step though, actually doing something about it was more than slightly intimidating. Eventually Tooth relents, deciding to visit the only one she trusts to steer her straight, after North himself, of course. She’s going to see Jack. 

Meeting with Jack in the Warren is almost as strange as watching a fish swim on land. Jack is different here; alive and engaged with his surrounding in a more visceral, earthy way then he did when he was out spreading snow. Jack Frost in his element was a deft touch, the gentlest of breezes, the perfect amount of chill, whatever it took to accomplish his ends was effortless and smooth. In the Warren, Jack does not fly, he walks. His feet are perpetually dirty, smudged with the soil he treads on barefoot. He seems... heavier somehow, weighted down, but not in a bad way. More like a small sapling that has finally found a place to take root. It’s a good look on him, bringing a joyful flush to his cheeks that Tooth had never seen before. He’s delighted by her arrival, dragging her into his and Bunny’s humble kitchen and bidding her to sit at what looked to be a brand new table. She’s half a mind to ask what had happened to the old one, but her attention was instead diverted to the task at hand. Now she sits, giving Jack the briefest of outlines on her fight with North, leaving out the fact that they’d been conversing about Jack himself. She leaves the explanation at the fact that she’d taken some of North’s guidance poorly, and had perhaps overreacted and was unsure of how to correct her error. Jack listens, brow furrowed as she speaks. When she’s finished he looked at her and asked only one question.

“Was he right?” Jack asks, with all sincerity and not a trace of accusation. Tooth settles deeper into her seat as she thinks about the words, a frown stealing over her face.

Had North been right?

Probably. Had she wanted to hear it?

Definitely not. Had she needed to?

Yes she had.

She admits as much to Jack and he smiles a reassuring smile, promising her that a genuine apology is all she needs, that sometimes emotions get the better of their owners and that North would understand. She can’t help but lose herself for just a second in the corners of Jack’s perfect grin, when the moment is lost to the door opening. Bunny steps in, hands still filthy from his work, but he still has a smile for Tooth as he closes the door.

Then grin on his face when he drops a kiss to Jack’s brow though, well, that’s another thing all together. Tooth suddenly feels like an intruder, ashamed of the jealously in her gut. They way the two look at each other is humbling, loving. It’s nothing Tooth will ever get from Jack, she realizes with a sudden jolt.

She really does owe North that apology.

Declining a generous invite to dinner and bidding her friends farewell, she hugs both of them tight enough that they seem a bit puzzled by her enthusiasm. She leaves with a bittersweet feeling, knowing that she owes them both apologies too, for crimes they will never learn of, for the envy in her heart. She has time though to figure out a way to make it up to them, although they will never know what she is making up for, and while she still hurts she knows she’ll be ok. Toothiana is a warrior, a Queen, and like Bunny the last of her kind. She has a powerful heart and a strong will and she knows it, she just sometimes let herself be ruled by said heart instead of her head. She detours suddenly away from home, heading to the Pole instead. She has a dear friend who’s waited far too long for an apology for her heinous behavior, and Tooth is loathe to keep him waiting another minute. It may have taken her this long, but Tooth finally understands; the lesson took a little while but now it’s been learned. You see, you don’t mess with true love, and what Jack and Bunny have? It’s a precious kind of thing, something Tooth had looked for in the wrong place, but now she’s certain she’ll find for herself one day, with a little patience and luck. Who knows, it could right under her nose! Laughing suddenly with the dizzying possibilities opened to her, Tooth wings her way at top speed, thinking of a pair of shining blue eyes and lovely white hair. It’s not an uncommon fantasy of late, but it never quite sinks in that it’s the face she’s rushing towards that fills her mind, not the face she’s leaving behind. Unknown to her, she is flying back to North faster then she’d ever left. 

_“What you have Tooth, is child’s crush.”_

_“No! No, that’s not true! You don’t know what this feels like!”_

_“Tooth, you care for fantasy of Jack, of dashing hero, brave rebel. It is impossible dream, because Jack? Jack is not only these things, Jack is human, more. The reality, my friend, would only disappoint. Is much better this way, there will be someone else, something real- Tooth, please, do not leave, we can- Tooth!”_

_North’s pleas are of no use though, his colourful friend has gone. With a sigh, he gathers the dirtied teacups, knowing shell be back, and steels himself for the wait._


	3. Hold Back Your Fear and See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanderson Mansnoozie is many things; charmingly narcoleptic, silent but deadly, speechless but sassy. Above all though, Sandy is OLD.

Sanderson Mansnoozie is many things; charmingly narcoleptic, silent but deadly, speechless but sassy. Above all though, Sandy is OLD.

Very old.

One could say, ‘has a restraining order on Death’ old.

Or perhaps, ‘so far over the hill he’s at the bottom and digging’ old.

So old, Sandy has long since lost count. For much of that he was a simple wishing star, only distantly aware of the goings-on of the outside world, unless of course they were directly related to the wishes he granted. He thinks he came into full awareness at some point during the Golden Ages, but it’s been long enough he could be mistaken. Regardless, the Golden Ages is where his memory truly begins; where the monotony of merely twinkling in the sky ended and the life he leads now began. He chose his name because he liked the thought of it, liked the way the vowels and consonants rolled in his mouth. He appeared as he wished to appear, and over the years grew so attached he now doubted his ability to manifest as anything else. Throwing himself headfirst into a cosmic war, he honed his abilities, grounded them less in the abstract and more in reality to better effect the physical world. He sacrificed much of his star-ness, of the part of him tethered to the creation of the Universe and beyond, for a chance to exist in a way far more immediate and visceral then his brethren. 

And he succeeded, with much ass-kicking and no regrets.

Sandy is old; old enough that beyond simply having lost track, time now has ceased to have any true meaning. A thousand years from now was little different to him than 10 AM next Tuesday, which caused no small amount of confusion when trying to arrange any sort of appointment, let me tell you! It was part of the reason Sandy felt he had done wrong by Jack. Sandy had encountered Jack before, the cheeky, irrepressible teenage spirit of winter, the boy forever full of mischief and laughter. But while Sandy had seen the boy, had even gone as far as waving at him once or twice while the young man dabbled in the streams of his dreamsand, he’d never gone out of his way to initiate a conversation. Sandy had contented himself with focussing on his duties and barely spared a thought for the poor lonely child, simply because to him, three hundred years was relatively insignificant. In fact, Sandy had spent several times that alone before and been satisfied. Sandy, in his infinite age but apparently more limited wisdom, had forgotten that stars were built for long stretches of lonesome, and Jack’s were not. It wasn’t until Jack made Guardian that Sandy had slowly become aware of his errors, and vowed to correct them.

Sandy is old enough that he no longer tracks important events by individual years, or even by centuries. Sandy’s life is instead made up of many ‘before’ and ‘after’ moments, the only delineation in the flow of eons that he allows himself.

Before his Awakening, After his Awakening.

Before Pitch Black, and After Kozmotis.

Before the Dark Ages, After the Dark Ages

And now, Before Jack Frost, and After Jack Frost.

Sandy doesn’t believe that Jack is aware of quite how important he’s become to him. Meeting Jack changed everything, broke centuries of bad habits and made good things even better. For all Jack was nothing but a young dead boy, he’d breathed life back into Guardianship, made routine duties once again fulfilling and worthwhile. Jack, who spent weeks learning Sandy’s language to better speak with him, Jack to sought him out regularly to keep him company while he worked, Jack who sometimes even lent a touch of his own magic to the dreamsand, helping to send dreams that were extra special for the sense of fun they encouraged. Whether by his special snowflakes, his kind words and gestures, or a well-placed Whoopie cushion, Jack brought Joy to every life he touched, and Sandy will never forget again.

Sandy vow’s to give him dreams in return.

Sleep was not a requirement for the younger man, but Sandy knew he indulged when he could, if only for the enjoyment and the habit of it. Jack had also admitted at one point that, when he did sleep, he either didn’t dream, or never remembered them. He’d made several bad jokes about it, describing how he ‘slept like the dead, har har,’ but the admission hardly made a difference to the older Guardian. While Sandy gives all the Guardians their dreams, something he considered a professional and personal courtesy, it became his mission to listen for the particular hum of Jack’s sleeping mind, and to send him some of his finest creations whenever the boy slumbered. Even if he didn’t remember, didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be enjoyed, regardless.

Like all good intentions though, it only mostly worked.

Somehow, most of Sandy’s good dreams became nightmares in Jack’s hands, and not even Pitch could be blamed. No, the boy’s terrors were his own doing, a product of an uneasy mind and a totally natural phenomenon. Every time the boy rested, he dreamt of his own death, of his family’s grief at his loss, of his own grief at the unfairness of losing everything. He dreamed sometimes of failing his sister, of losing her instead beneath the unforgiving ice. Once or twice, on his worst of nights, he dreamed of Pitch, an icy black monolith in the deepest of arctic tundra’s, and a moment of weakness where Jack says just one word then wakes up sobbing.

_“Yes.”_

Sandy despairs, Jack stops sleeping, and it seems that the Sandman has failed, that he can never make up for the years of neglect, that he cannot make his new friend smile, the way Jack makes Sandy smile continually, effortlessly.

Until one night, Jack the perpetual optimist gives in to the temptation of sleep, and dreams of rabbits.

It’s an odd, out of place thing, the rabbits in particular, but Sandy is thrilled that for once the poor boy has had something pleasant to cherish in his unconscious hours.

Then it happens again.

Sandy is puzzled, but he’s definitely seen stranger before, so it doesn’t cause him alarm, until it happens again.

And again.

Sandy does not put the pieces together until one night over Moscow, when, after a dizzying display of aerial acrobatics, an enthusiastic Jack relates his sojourns into Bunny’s very personal space, and Sandy could smack himself for not having noticed sooner.

Jack is in love.

Also apparently and air-guitar aficionado, but that’s less important in the long run.

Sandy is willing to bet that if he’d been paying more attention to Bunny’s dreams he would have seen the same development forming on his end, because what else could his old friend’s casual acceptance, and even encouragement of such traditional courting behaviors mean?

Except, Jack is adorably clueless, not even appearing to realize what is going on, and suddenly Sandy wonders if perhaps Bunny was in the same position. But, as comical as it would be, Sandy knows better. There was no way Bunny hasn’t figured out his feelings yet, but whether he’s cottoned on to Jack’s though was another thing entirely. 

Sandy debates giving Jack a nudge, taking pity on the confused young man, but he decides it’s better if he stays out of it. His interference would not be appreciated and the boys will sort themselves out eventually, when they’re ready for the reality of what lays before them in each other. When they do he’ll be the first to congratulate them and frame the wedding announcement.

At least, there’d better be a wedding announcement; Sandy won’t stand for either friend disrespecting themselves by not making honest men of each other. 

There are years before them to get it right, to fall into rhythm, walking through the ages in tandem. Sandy will watch it all come to pass, will watch them age and grow further into each other, flourishing both together and apart, as Guardians and as individuals.

Jack will still have nightmares occasionally, but sometimes Bunny will too.

Sandy will do what he can to soothe them, but his intervention won’t usually be required, and he won’t be able to bring himself to mind.

From now on, when one wakes fearful in the night, the other is there to pull them closer, and calm them back into restfulness.

From now on, two spirits dream will as one.

Sandy is pleased.

Now, if only those other two younglings would get their acts together, before Sandy had to convince Jack to lock them in a closet!


	4. Hiding Myself in Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect Nicholas St. North can’t help but feel like fool. The signs had been there, all the little hints and clues he usually prided himself on picking up on, but he’d missed it this time.

In retrospect Nicholas St. North can’t help but feel like fool. The signs had been there, all the little hints and clues he usually prided himself on picking up on, but he’d missed it this time. It was an inexcusable error on his part, a lapse in his usually unfailing observational skills, skills he depended on because his job depended on it. Reading people was second nature to the Guardian of Wonder; how else would he know just what gifts to give? Missing something like this though, was unacceptable, and this was one mess that could not be blamed on clumsy, overenthusiastic elves.

How could he be the man his friends depended on, when he could not even tell you when it was that two of them had fallen in love? It was so apparent, the way the spoke to the other, the ease with which they fit in each other’s space, the surprisingly long list of things they had in common...

The worst of it was North knew why he’d overlooked what had been such an obvious, natural progression of a relationship that had started out turbulent, but had smoothed over so quickly, so easily. Bunny and Jack had fallen into a casual rhythm with each other in such a small amount of time and with so few hiccups that, looking back, he should have started being suspicious even then. When Bunny began allowing Jack small liberties the others either weren’t permitted, or had spent decades earning, it should have raised red flags with. It wasn’t until the day of both Jack and Aster’s separate visits that he’d finally begun to put the pieces together, and even then he’d practically had to be smacked upside the head with the mention of Pooka courting rituals. Stunned almost into silence, North had felt himself falter, nearly fumbling both conversations until he’d somehow mustered up something to say that he could only hope had been appropriately helpful for both of them. The thought that perhaps he’d steered them wrong had been weighing at his ever since. 

North shook his head to himself, hunched over his desk with schematics for the latest sleigh upgrade spread out before him. He should be adding the final revisions, but instead he was participating in an out of character bout of self-flagellation. Sighing again and abandoning his work for the time being, Nick slumped back in his chair, absently munching on an oatmeal cookie. He wasn’t usually much for introspection or brooding, preferring to live firmly in the now, rather than lament the past, but this whole affair was niggling at him on a couple of levels. Firstly, he was dying to find out how things had gone with both of his dear friends. He could think of no other two people so well suited to each other then Bunny and Jack now that his eyes had been opened, but these things weren’t always so simple. As it stood North figured it was just as likely that he could be soothing more tears an hour from now instead of happily planning a wedding.

There would be a wedding, the grandest kind, only the best for the friends North had inadvertently done ill by.

The second thing bothering him, truthfully, was that North did in fact know the reason why he’d subconsciously turned a blind eye. North was an accepting man, wanting only happiness and prosperity for those he cared about, he would never deliberately ignore a personal development of such significance, except he had without actually realizing it.

No, North knew why.

It was because Jack looked so incredibly _young._

Despite a voice that sounded closer to a man’s then a child, Jack had let slip while relating the events discovered in his memories that he’d died on Easter Sunday, only a few months after his fourteenth birthday. 

The boy had been so _young._

North knew Tooth felt it too, the pull to the child, the desire to parent, to reaffirm and support and generally smother with the affections the boy should have had all along. Bright, smiling Jack, the Guardians very own child.

But that had been North’s mistake right there, hadn’t it?

Jack had been a child when he’d died, yes. But after that had three hundred years had passed, long and lonely and difficult, and Jack had grown. Not physically, no, physically the frost sprit would likely never change, remaining as he was, fey and insubstantial until the day he ceased to exist. But mentally? Emotionally? They were dealing with a whole different animal right there.

Yes, the Guardian of Fun was still a child, in several ways. It was clear in many of the things he did, in the way he carried himself. But put any one of the five of them under a microscope and the story was all the same; no matter how old they were, how much they’d seen, they’d done, or how many scars the world had carved on them, they all remained childlike and innocent at heart, able to see the world in shades of light and beauty instead of dark and despair.

It was what made them good Guardians, after all, and as vital as breathing.

North’s mistake was letting his own desires paint themselves onto Jack. He looked at the boy as a child his own child in fact, in need of guidance and direction, when he should have been looking at his ‘son’ as a young man in need of support and encouragement. He’d allowed Jack’s youthful appearance and behavior to trick him into believing that he had a chance to father the boy, to raise him, but it was too late. Jack had been mostly raised by the time the ice had taken him, if the stories he’d told about his mortal life had been true, and what little had remained had been left up to Jack himself during his long stint of solitude. No, Jack may have been a child in many ways, but he was a man in more, and North had done him a disservice by denying him that chance to flourish in his own right. A flaw in his behaviour that North would quickly be rectifying. He would have to have the conversation with Tooth, too, next time they spoke. 

Sandy and Bunny had never fallen into the same trap it seemed, and North could easily guess at why. For a man like the Sandman, who was literally countless eons old, 14 didn’t mean much. Oh, he knew children grew, obviously, but on what timeline Sandy could not have told you. Following in the wake of the sun, spreading good dreams around the globe pretty much non-stop for centuries meant it was always night time for Sandy, which meant the passage of days meant nothing, which meant the passage of time in general held little significance. Too Sandy, people were simply judged as they presented themselves, no more, no less, with no regard to anything related to chronology whatsoever.

For Aster, it was a different story. Pooka were shapeshifters by nature, and while Aster had never excelled in and therefore rarely utilized that particular talent, at least, not that North had ever heard tell of or borne witness too, he had grown up in a society where being someone else was a simple enough endeavor. While Aster had explained to North once, long ago, that most Pooka kept to their natural forms unless required otherwise, their natural forms themselves could be...shifted, slightly, and with little more than a passing thought even for the most untalented of them. Fur colour for one, was changeable, although their tribal markings always remained. Eye colour too, could be transient if the bearer chose. Things like relative size and even gender were also simple enough transitions if one wanted. And also, obviously, age. A Pooka at full maturity usually picked an age they felt comfortable at and ‘stuck with it.’ Aster had always appeared as a Pooka at his prime, still young and agile, but old enough to appear respectable in mixed company. He could just have easily appeared as an elder, or as a youth barely past his majority, if he’d chosen. So to Aster, physical age also had no meaning, it was the age of the soul inside the body that counted. In Aster’s eyes, Jack was a being with three centuries experience as a winter elemental, and just over a decade of frail mortality behind it. While that was not even an eye-blink compared to the Pooka himself, most spirits on Earth were technically ‘jailbait,’ comparatively speaking, so that argument didn’t hold much water.

No, Aster and Sandy had been weighing the boy against his own merit since the get-go, and apparently having great success, while North and Tooth had been floundering in their way to reach out to Jack. Not that Jack didn’t care, because of course he did! North knew they had a cherished and treasured friendship, but it had not come as simply to them as Jack’s time with Aster and Sandy had, and North had finally discovered that he himself was to blame.

Well, the past was unalterable, but the future was a blank page. North would write a new story going forward, doing his best to be a better friend, to grow himself with the lesson he’d learned. He’d try harder to meet Jack on a more adult level, respecting the man Jack had become, but as always, allowing for the boy he sometimes had to be, in the same way that Nick treated all his friends.

Whatever the outcome for Jack and Bunny, North would be there for them with open arms, as always. Preferably with scrapbook for wedding planning, but hey, one can be optimistic about such things as true love. And no, Jack was not the little boy North had secretly dreamed of having one day, but he was still a fine young man that any father could be proud of, and North vowed to let him know that, someday soon.

Straightening back up over his desk North snatched up a pencil, diving back into his work. In the meantime, he had a sleigh to upgrade, a production line to check up on, and a meeting to arrange. Yes, he should definitely contact Tooth to arrange that little chat, it was too important to wait. Also, it would be pleasant to see her again, she was always such delightful company, and North couldn’t deny he had a soft spot the size of a Yeti for the birdlike Guardian.


	5. The Risk That Might Break You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His thick, sodden robe is deadweight; an albatross about his shoulders trying to drag him back into the cold depths. He struggles, spluttering and swearing in tongues that did not originate on Earth, but, finally, eventually, Pitch Black heaves his exhausted body from the accursed waters and onto the ice that Frost had _ever so kindly_ left him exactly for that purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, this part got a little darker then I'd intended, considering it picks up right after Chapter 5 of 'Look After You,' which was pretty much a comedy. However it was written from Jack's perspective, best I can figure is that Pitch apparently didn't find it all that funny...
> 
> Dark themes and a fluff factor of zero kids, here there be Dragons...

His thick, sodden robe is deadweight; an albatross about his shoulders trying to drag him back into the cold depths. He struggles, spluttering and swearing in tongues that did not originate on Earth, but, finally, eventually, Pitch Black heaves his exhausted body from the accursed waters and onto the ice that Frost had _ever so kindly_ left him exactly for that purpose. He sprawls there momentarily, energy depleted, soaked to the bone and feeling every inch of the resultant chill. He’s immune to drowning, immune to hypothermia, immune to Pneumonia from the water in his lungs, but that does not mean that thrashing about in Jack’s lake was not trying in its own right. Truthfully, with his believers at an all-time low, the unexpected physical activity has depleted what little reserves he had managed to build up to make this little foray into the wider world. With a pathetic little noise he only dared make because he was alone, Pitch braces his hands beneath him, pushing himself up into a crawling position. With the last dregs of his strength he makes his way like an undignified infant onto dry land, already feeling the thin ice begin to weaken and buckle under his weight without the winter spirit around to solidify it. Once safely away from the threat of not-drowning, he collapses from hands to elbows, only barely able to roll himself onto his back as his final reserves give out, leaving him flopped like a forgotten child’s toy at the root of large fir tree. 

The next few moments are devoted strictly to breathing, taking each breath as far into himself as possible, holding it for a three count, and then releasing it slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth; pause, repeat. Slowly, Pitch’s heartbeat returns to normal, the tension begins to fade, and a modicum of strength seeps back into tired limbs. A nap would restore him much faster, but mostly invisible or not Pitch has made many enemies and he’d not contemplate lowering his guards so far when he was as useless and exposed as he is now. No, true rest would have to wait until he could haul his sorry carcass back to the safety of his lair, where none but the stupidly brave or bravely stupid dared to tread. In fact the last person to have set foot in his home had been...

Jack Frost.

It was always bloody Jack Frost.

For a spirit that had been little more than a passing annoyance to all and sundry mere months ago, the boy had taken to Guardianship like a bird to air, slotting himself neatly among the big four like he’d been at their sides all along.

And now, he apparently had designs on the last Pooka.

Pitch can’t stop the harsh bark of un-amused laughter that wrenches itself free. The Pooka? Laughable, truly. Winter and Spring would never gel, would never be anything but a failure looking for a place to happen. And Jack, silly little Jack Frost, fancies himself in love?

Well fine then, let him be in love. 

Let them be happy, let them speak sweet words and gentle touches, let them partake of each other as lovers would, Pitch knew better. 

Pitch knew that lost lambs like Jack Frost didn’t get happy endings. Pitch understood the nature of creatures like Jack, because Jack was like him. Jack had edges and angles the Guardians, simpering, weak-minded fools that they were wouldn’t even _know_ to acknowledge! Jack was cold, Jack was death, had died on this very lake, carried the stigmata of that with him, a burial shroud upon his thin shoulders. Jack could be cruel; casually, carelessly, Pitch had seen it in the centuries since the child’s rebirth. Jack could be as neglectful as he was attentive if the mood struck him so, flighty and as easily distracted as he was easily bored.

Jack could have been beautiful, stunning even, with traces of Pitch’s black sand in his hair, against that smooth skin, turning pure white tones into hues of ash. Jack could have been his Fearling Prince, blackened fingers wielding a frozen staff, icicles clinging to the folds of his clothes and his delicate earlobes, eyes sunken and wild and lips and fingertips blue with the death that slept in his chest. Jack could have been incredible, unstoppable, a force of fury and wrath upon this blighted Earth, standing proud before the masses, their thin, trembling forms weeping on their knees at his frostbitten feet. Jack could have conquered, could have _ruled_ had he so chosen.

Jack could have been _feared,_ and Pitch would have stood at his back, watching the carnage over his shoulder with a maniacal grin. 

Cold and Dark.

Together they would have been _perfection._

But spoiled, selfish, _whorish_ JACK FROST had CHOSEN THE POOKA.

“Let them love!” Pitch snarls as he staggers to his feet, feeling suddenly renewed by the rush of rage into his black blood. He stumbles forward, leaning heavily on trees as he makes his way back to the recently reopened entrance to his home. He makes it nearly to the edge of the hole before his legs give way, spilling him onto the ground mere feet from the darkness and silence of his pit. He gasps, pants wildly, frustrated by his weakness and angry with the world, grey fingertips digging into the wet earth beneath him. Above him, the Moon shines merrily, perfect spectator to his difficulties, his indignities, and Pitch snaps, throwing his head back to howl into the night.

“LET THEM LOVE! LET THEM HAVE THEIR FAIRYTALE! LET THEM ROT IN THEIR SACCHARINE DREAMS, LET THEM INDULGE, AND SLIP INTO COMPLACENCY! WHEN THEIR GUARDS COME DOWN, WHEN THEIR BACKS ARE TURNED, THERE I WILL BE! I’LL HAUNT THEIR SHADOWS FOR ETERNITY FOR THE PERFECT MOMENT, MARK MY WORDS OLD FRIEND, EVER HAVE I WAITED, AND EVER SHALL I WAIT AGAIN!”

Pitch’s voice breaks, giving under the strain of the abuse, and his tirade ends abruptly. Without the sound of his voice to fill the clearing, the darkness seems to press in, both comfort and burden. Pitch curls into, body tucked into a tight curve upon the ground, aching and debilitated. There he lay, stretched out on a bed of fall leaves within arm’s reach of his goal, perhaps unable to move the last few inches, or perhaps simply without the will to do so.

“Let them love.” He croaks; quiet words like a gunshot against the silence, voice thick with the bitterness in his throat. 

Yes, let them love. Let them taste the sweetest of dreams, before Pitch tears it all apart and replaces it with the blackest of nightmares. Let them have something to lose, it will only make the inevitable fall all the more poetic.

Pitch pushes himself up once again on shaking arms, filthy and undone. He shifts his weight to move only to keel forward, head and shoulders over the welcoming darkness of the pit. His arms and legs burns, forcing a pained groan from his lips as he heaves and kicks, pushing himself forward just far enough to let gravity take over, tumbling headfirst down into the absolute dark waiting to cradle him to its empty bosom. 

Jack could have been his, he thinks as his eyes slip shut, teetering just on the edge of stupor. 

Jack had almost been _his._

But Pitch did not give second chances, and he did not forgive rejection. The day would come when he would return, and he’d see the Guardians all dead by his hand. Yes, they would fall, but the last of them would be Jack Frost, so that he may know that the attentions of the Nightmare King were thorough and uncompromising. Even now, Pitch relished the thought of Jack’s face as he watched his Pooka lover bleed out before him, unable to stop the inevitable. If he died for trying, Pitch swore he'd see Frost suffer for his offenses against him before snuffing him out like a weak candle.

_One day, Pitch would win, and the world would tremble._

Soothed by the thought, the boogeyman finally sleeps.


	6. Love 'Til You Feel It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Jack has all his memories of his mortal life back, he recalls having exactly one conversation with his mother about the phenomenon known as love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is if folks, last chapter, this trilogy is done. Thank so much for everyone who followed this, who left Kudos or comments or who lurked in the background silently, your support is overwhelming. 
> 
> I hope this was worth the wait for all of you.

“I am hopeful, though not full of hope, and the only reason I don't believe in happy endings is because I don't believe in endings.”   
\- Edward Abbey

 

Now that Jack has all his memories of his mortal life back, he recalls having exactly one conversation with his mother about the phenomenon known as love. He’d been about six, and there had been some talk in the household of her remarrying, having been widowed a couple of winters previous. Jack at the time had understood that life would be easier with a man to support them, as Jack was yet too young, but he’d always been a fanciful child, and had asked his mother if she loved the man. She’d smiled at him, and sat him down, and what she’d said next had been the best, wisest advice he’d ever received.

“Jack,” She’d said; his name full of love and tenderness as it always was in her mouth, “love is not a thing you _are,_ it is something you _could be._ ”

Jack’s mother had married the man, the town shepherd, long since widowed himself, and it was that union that had birthed Jack’s little sister, the person whom, as a mortal, he’d loved more dearly than any other. The years had been kind enough to their little family, until his mother was widowed again when Jack was twelve. He knew that, for his mother and her advancing age, having survived two husbands there would be no third. Jack had taken up his stepfather’s crook, and set himself to work, taking over as many responsibilities as he could. By the time he’d died that fateful day, Jack had cemented his role as man of the house, and while he was still better known for his carefree attitude and prankster nature, it was also generally accepted about town that Jack was more man than child. Despite that, Jack had never thought much about falling in love himself; he had many years yet before his sister would have been of marriageable age and he could see her settled, and been free to find a wife of his own. Even then, he knew he’d likely marry more for convenience then anything, as his mother and stepfather had, They’d been lucky though, to have found a mutual affection with each other over the years, until Jack knew that their marriage of convenience had become something more.

Jack had never fallen in love as a mortal, but he’d watched his mother and stepfather practise at it every day, and it had seemed wonderful, and comfortable, and the dreamer in him had, in fleeting moments, wished for something that special.

Fast forward three centuries, and Jack had found Aster.

Jack knew without a doubt what his friends thought about him an Aster; that they were perfect and made for each other, and so in love it was breathtaking. He also knew what Aster thought of them; that they were genuine and solid, mad about each other and committed for the long term. Jack had never shared his thoughts though, not that any had ever asked, everyone just assumed they already knew and there was no need. It was obvious of course, that Jack loved Aster, it went without saying.

They would all be wrong.

Six year old Jack remembered looking up at his mother, her sweet face lined prematurely by her grief for her first husband, and the struggle of raised her son alone. He remembered the words she’d spoken, wise beyond her years.

Love was not a destination, it was a journey.

Jack did not love Aster, in the sense that he believed the love they spoke of was finite; the place where the road dead-ended, and once you were there, where else was left to go? No, Jack would never love Aster like that, his husband deserved better then a feeling that would never change, never grow as they changed and grew and evolved, both as a couple and as individuals. Aster had earned far more from Jack then something with edges, with a clear border you could see, not when Jack was capable of something boundless and unrestricted.

Jack would appreciate Aster’s good qualities every day. Jack would also forgive and accept Aster’s flaws, as he knew Aster did for him. Jack would cherish each uniqueness of character that shaped his husband for the person he was.

Jack would strive each day to make his husband smile at least twice, and laugh at least once. He’d do one nice thing every day, for no reason other than he could. He’d never go to bed angry, would endeavor not to hold grudges from past arguments, and always apologize when he was wrong.

Jack would learn his husband, his likes and dislikes, his passions and his terrors, his dreams and nightmares equally. There would be no part of him that Jack would shy away from, no part that Jack would be too weak or too scared to embrace. 

Jack would never let himself grow complacent, or lazy in their partnership. He would never allow their lovemaking to grow boring, their conversation stale. He would work every day to inject new life into their union, while never forgetting to honour old, long-held traditions, because you can’t know where you’re going if you forget where you’ve come from.

Jack would support his husband, carry him when he was weak and nurse him when he was ill, and allow himself to be supported and carried in turn. He’d celebrate his triumphs and mourn his losses alongside him, and together they would rejoice in their blessings and conquer their trials side by side. 

These were the things he’d vowed silently, to both himself and his husband at the time of their mating. It was these vows that Jack re-affirmed daily with the setting and the rising of the sun.

Most of all, Jack would never let himself love Aster the way everyone expected him too, because that love was a finished structure; a palace already built. Jack had a different castle in mind, one where the corridors never ended, and the towers stretched into the sky out of sight. Jack intended to build it, brick by brick, day by day, but never to see its completion. To complete it would be an end, whether by a death, or a separation. Jack knew that nothing was ever truly eternal, even immortal as they were; he knew a day would come when this would end, as all things did eventually, inevitably. But until that day, he’d keep creating something fantastic with every word, every deed, in the hopes that the ending would not tear down their shared monument, but give it a place of honour in the memories and histories of the world that had shaped it.

In love with Aster was not something Jack _was,_ it was something Jack _could be,_ something Jack hoped for and that gave him hope in return, and he was going to move towards that goal everyday without shame or hesitation. This was not a happy ending, only happiness stretching forward before him into the indeterminate future.

Jack had never counted on things ending up this way the first time he’d met Aster, back when their animosity was at its finest. He hadn’t expected it when he’d been named a Guardian, nor when they’d buried the hatchet and becomes friends. He hadn’t even seen it coming the first time he’d ventured into Aster’s personal home, inserting himself accidentally but firmly into the Pooka’s life in way’s he’d never conceived as possible. No, Jack had been surprised by his husband every step of the way. In fact, he continued to be daily, much to his delight, and Jack couldn’t picture a better man to devote himself to learning a thousand different and exciting ways to fall for then E. Aster Bunnymund.

Well, maybe his friends were a little bit right, because this whole marriage thing? Jack _owns_ this, no doubts, no fears, no regrets. Jack can’t imagine a better way to spend his forever then walking towards something wonderful and comforatble; his head held high, husband by his side, and their hands clasped tight.

 

“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.”   
\- Frank Herbert

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to My Dreamwidth and Fanfiction.net


End file.
